JCVD

Wake at 9.30am show-worn and sweat-drained after week of rioting (self obviously wasn’t part of riots [since self prefers stealing hearts rather than plasma screen televisions], but self was caught near riots [since self lives in Peckham]) and performing in Noël Coward’s revisionist history lesson Peace in our Time. Self received positive feedback for performance in show but positive feedback not money, so self unable to spend week gloating in manner of confident squirrel who has more nuts/plasma screen televisions than other squirrels, so self must instead go to Walthamstow Job Centre to request Job Seekers Allowance. 

Morning Glory

Wake at 10am in morning feeling glorious, refreshed and prepared to vanquish illness developed yesterday whilst rehearsing Noël Coward play and drinking rosé on National Theatre balcony with non-flatmate ex-workmate Valentina. Self watches season two of The Wire whilst prepping itinerant to-do list for approaching holiday to sunny Portugal. Self decides to publish list on blog:

The Life of David Gale

Arrive back at new flat at 8pm. Self is weary, broken, emotionally drained like formally-wet-now-stone-cold-dry sponge. Flat seems quiet which self prefers as self far too exhausted to speak to other humans. Self unrobes, throws clothes to corner, clambers into bed and watches climax of first season of The Wire on laptop. Self disappears quickly into abyss of unconsciousness.

Bad Teacher

Wake (badly) at 9am by noise of lecture about early rising given by teacher father. (Self’s father actually headteacher but word gaming in blog posts often fails to work if self entirely accurate.) (Rethinking occurs whereby self concludes that “Wake [badly] at 9am because of lecture by headteacher father” would have sufficed just as well.) Self has set plan for how to spend Sunday. (Blog posting sometimes occurs several days after blog post experienced in real rather than reel life [self writes in faux present tense] because self [despite posts mostly about self drinking] occasionally busy with life tasks [current life task requires self move out of parents' house] and drinking.) Self’s plan for God’s day (Sunday) includes self watching highly acclaimed women’s comedyBridesmaids (although highly acclaimed women’s film directed by man [not woman]), hugging self’s mother (as self moving house), leaving parents’ house with possessions (as self moving house), taking possessions to new house (as self moving house), and potentially kissing new flatmates (as self moving to flat not house).

Alien: Resurrection

Erect self from bed at 10am. Self marginally inert after late night spent trying to understand Alien³ and watching countless episodes of brilliant AMC series Breaking Bad on laptop whilst in bed. Self brews dangerously strong coffee and consumes coffee with black cigarette in garden whilst morning of summer solstice washes over self. As self stands in parents’ garden, basking in beautiful light of sun, surrounded by strange and wonderful gorgeous creatures of earth and air adorned with stunning array of colours, self reflects on experience of David Fincher’s Alien³. Self’s soul empties out, but not in positive confessional catharsis brought on by innocence and power of Mother Nature, rather in disgusted, hopeless, what-is–point-of-carrying-on-if-Sigourney-Weaver-just-commits-suicide drowning sensation that can only be experienced morning following vicious argument with dinosaur or viewing of Alien³.

Alien³

Wake at 9am. In reality, self woke at 10.30am, but typing 9am looks better. Whilst updating blog with Aliens post, self engages in viewing of episode from Aaron Sorkin’s collapsed television show Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. Self has taken to revisiting sorely yearned for Sorkin show each morning as high calibre dialogue makes self feel more intelligent for rest of day. Impression of intellect rather undermined by self’s habit of making animal noises whenever stroked on head or baby sounds whenever tickled on tummy which self thinks amusing and almost cute. In reality, self’s behaviour contemptible curious creepiness.

Aliens

Wake at 9am with design to go on morning jog through wooded area near house before traveling to central London to continue writing almost-forgotten-certainly-under-nurtured play about state of literary criticism which self hopes will make self rich and famous before end of year before going to double shift at work. During morning coffee and cigarette routine in back garden, sluggish self becomes aware that British summer rainstorm occurring around self. With substantially sweetened coffee splish splashing across garden patio, self finishes soggy smoke and reenters house, damp, plans aborted entirely, with new plan of action encompassing watching second film in Alien tetralogy Aliens and playing on Internet. Self pleased with plan as usually (ignoring momentary lapse of slothfulness self had earlier when productive and useful proposal for how to spend day prior to work was made) self’s weekends are occupied by time at work and are as busy socially and personally as Terence Malick’s filmmaking career.